I had a few olives as part of my breakfast this morning. They were very nice, but there was a slightly bitter undertone to them. Which reminded me of a holiday in Montpellier.
Walking along one day I passed an olive tree in full fruit. Having never eaten an olive straight off the tree, I did so. Fuck it was so nasty bitter.
This morning the young olives were slightly bitter and in a Proustian way my mind flashed back to that tree on the Boulevard Pasteur in Montpellier. My wife was seven months pregnant so she was in the apartment while I was out, taking our eldest daughter for a stroll in the Phil & Ted’s stroller. It was early evening, not too hot, not too cold, quiet in the way that suburban French streets are in the South.
As we meandered along the street, there was an olive tree, I thought why not? I then thought after eating it never again.
We haven’t been on holiday for years, things have been really fucked up in our family. Every time I put my foot down and say never again. Something comes along to fuck us in the arse.